


One Through Thirty

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 01:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7597342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a tiara nestled snugly on Emma Swan’s head, a sash draped from one shoulder to the opposite hip that reads, “DIRTY THIRTY,” and a list of thirty things she’s supposed to do before the clock strikes midnight. (At the very top of which is one Killian Jones.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Through Thirty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lifeinahole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeinahole/gifts).



> For Sarah, who lights up my life with her friendship and lets me flail about fic at 3 AM. Love you, friend! Happy (belated) Birthday! <3

_1\. Find a guy whose name starts with the letter ‘K’_

Emma scrunches her nose at the tiara Mary Margaret delicately places on her head and expels a heavy sigh when Elsa drapes a bright pink sash that reads ‘DIRTY THIRTY’ in big, bold, black letters over her so it lays diagonally across her chest. Both are _obnoxiously_ glittery and flamboyant, and she is already regretting her decision to allow her friends to take her out for her birthday.

“Is this _really_ necessary?” she complains for the hundredth time.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t make the rules,” Mary Margaret replies.

Elsa’s encouraging smile is accompanied by a pat to her shoulder. “It’ll be fun. Besides, it’s not everyday you turn thirty.”

“Birthday Girl still grumbling?” Ruby asks as she saunters up to the table, smile wide and wolf-like.

Mary Margaret shoots her a look, the kind that says, ‘ _I can’t believe you talked her into this, she is going to murder you. Slowly._ ’ But Ruby remains unfazed, setting a gift bag on the table and handing Emma a piece of paper.

“What’s this? What am I supposed to do with this?” she frowns, unfolding the sheet and turning it right side up while Mary Margaret and Elsa continue to fuss with her birthday wear.

Ruby’s smile blooms into a grin when Emma’s gaze abruptly snaps to hers after reading it. “ _You_ , my-newly-turned-thirty dear friend, are doing a photo scavenger hunt tonight.”

Her eyes narrow as they return to the list to scan it over again, brow abruptly quirking in annoyance. “Ruby, seriously?”

“What?” she asks, the perfect face of wide-eyed innocence.

“‘ _#1. Find a guy whose name starts with the letter K?_ ’”

“Yeah, and?”

She gives Ruby an exasperated huff. “‘ _#2. Find a guy with blue eyes?_ ’”

“‘ _And a dimpled smile_ ,’” she points out. “Don’t forget that part.”

“These are all really specific.”

“Well, you didn’t think I’d make it easy, did you? Scavenger hunts are _supposed_ to be hard, Emma.” Her smirk is amused, eyes full of mischief. “Especially on your birthday!”

“Yeah, but are they supposed to be specific to _one person_?” she retorts.

“Hey,” Ruby holds her hands up in an innocent gesture. “You said it, not me. Besides, you two idiots keep making eyes at each other without actually doing anything about it, so consider this a push in the right direction.”

“Excuse you. I don’t _make-_ ”

“Did someone say ‘ _birthday_?’” comes the interruption, and Emma promptly shuts her mouth (not to mention loses every thought in her mind but no one has to know that) as she and the others turn towards the source of the voice.

The way her stomach somersaults at the lilting accent, a full three hundred sixty degrees, is completely reflexive and never has she been more thankful for the low lighting in the bar than she is in that moment when a familiar pair of bright blue eyes land directly on her. She feels her face grow warm at the sight of the present topic of discussion -- small business owner, master sommelier, handsome as sin Killian Jones -- standing before her. Smiling at her. Turning her insides to mush.

“ _Hi Killian!_ ” chants the chorus of females around them in that irritating way that makes it blatantly obvious they’d been talking about him (and also makes Emma want to crawl into a hole and die). It is immediately followed by a round of delighted cheers when he begins passing out drinks from the tray carefully balanced in his hand.

“First round on the house,” he smiles at each woman in turn, saving her for last. “For the Birthday Girl. Happy Birthday, love.”

Her fingers brush against his when she accepts the glass and she swallows thickly at the way his gaze remains locked on hers. “Thanks, Killian.”

He ducks his head, eyes looking down at his feet while the corners of his mouth tug up so his dimples wink to life, and when he takes his leave Emma exhales quietly, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Ruby steps into her line of sight with a ‘ _don’t make eyes, my ass_ ’ look on her face and Emma rolls said eyes skyward despite the flush that creeps back into her cheeks.

“I can’t _believe_ I let you talk me into this.”

“Stop being a baby,” Ruby chuckles. “Now, lets get this party started!”

Emma scowls at Elsa when she hands her an Instax polaroid camera.

Elsa merely shrugs, giving her an apologetic look. “I don’t make the rules.”

She sighs once more and has the distinct feeling that it’s going to be a really, _really_ long night.

\-----

_5\. Get a guy to show you his belly button_

Killian photobombs number five, standing beside her co-worker and Deputy, David Nolan, who’s pulled his shirt up to reveal his abs. Killian points at them, one of his brows arched high -- practically into his hairline -- while Mary Margaret positions herself comically behind David, up on her tiptoes so her Cheshire Cat grin can be seen over his shoulder. Meanwhile, Emma sits in the chair on David’s other side, looking completely horrified in the picture, and next year, she vows to stay in for her birthday.

(It does not go unnoticed that Killian has taken on the task of serving the side of the bar her party is on, occasionally dropping in to partake in the festivities -- a joke, a photography assist, a smile or a look just for her -- and it definitely doesn’t make her heart skip a beat in her chest. Not at all.)

\-----

_9\. Get a guy to serenade you_

She skips the first two on the list because it’s her birthday and she can do whatever she wants, but by the time she gets to number nine (number seven), she’s ready to walk out of her own shindig and go straight home, tiara and all.

A drunken Leroy has been singing “Man Eater” by Daryl Hall and John Oates to her for the past two minutes, at the top of his lungs with his arm slung across her shoulders and her rum and coke in his other hand. _Terribly_ off-key, she might add. But at least the photo Mary Margaret took turned out ridiculously funny and scrapbook-worthy, with Leroy ‘seducing’ the camera and Emma scrunching her nose in absolute distress.

By the time he’s sung the second verse and chorus _again_ , though, Emma fears he may just attempt to sing to her the rest of the night. On repeat, lord help her.

But like a knight in shining armor (more like blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a black vest, and dark jeans), Killian swings by on his way to the bar and lures Leroy away from her with another drink. He smoothly drops off a replacement rum and coke for her with a wink and a grin that makes her heart flutter in her chest just a little bit.

She gives him a grateful, albeit apologetic, smile back and says her thanks with a sigh, to which he teases that she will surely bankrupt him before the end of the night.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” she insists. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t even want to go _out_ for my birthday but-”

“Swan, _relax_ , I’m just joking.”

“Oh.”

He grins then, and before he goes, he reaches out to send the hoop earring that’s dangling from her ear swaying with a swipe of his index finger.

\-----

_15\. Find a guy who will give you a lap dance_

She’s going to kill Ruby. She’s really going to kill her, because she’s got some nameless, faceless guy’s crotch in her face and Killian is scowling when he comes by to bus their table again.

Well, unless Killian kills her first.

He snaps at Ruby to use a coaster for her drink, shooting daggers at her with his eyes and grumbling under his breath about “ _Bloody heathens._ ” Her friend merely grins triumphantly, raising her drink in a toast as she wiggles her eyebrows at her, as if to say that Killian is coming along nicely.

_God._

\-----

_18\. Find a guy who is celebrating his birthday too_

He’s...sweet.

And he’s handsome and absolutely charismatic, no doubt about that, but his eyes are sea foam green instead of electric blue and his dimples are too deep.

He’s a fine substitute though, because if Emma squints, in her buzzed stupor, he definitely reminds her of Killian.

She might even flirt a little bit -- or a lot, she’s got a good buzz going by #18 -- sensing Killian’s eyes on them (on _her_ ) and how they burn a hole in the back of her head. Truthfully, it gives her a little thrill -- how Killian has no qualms about interrupting, or taking an extra long time to wipe down their already clean table just so he can shoot Arthur dirty looks whenever Arthur leans in just a bit too close to her. Or touches her, for that matter -- a hand to her knee, her arm, her shoulder.

Arthur’s a fine substitute indeed.

But he’s not Killian.

“How are you enjoying your birthday, darling?” Arthur asks.

It doesn’t sound quite the same rolling off of his tongue -- _darling_.

“Oh, it’s been great,” she replies, though her tone may not sound as convincing as she thinks it does. “Have you met Killian? He owns the place. He’s great too. That’s him right there.”

She points him out to Arthur as if they haven’t previously met already, eyes unwavering on Killian as he moves around the room to see to his other patrons, her tone just a little wistful. Arthur gives her a knowing look, wishing her a Happy Birthday again before grasping her hand and bending over it to brush his lips over her knuckles before politely excusing himself.

\-----

_24\. Get a guy to buy you a shot_

Number twenty-four is far too easy -- considering she knows the owner of the bar -- so naturally, she should have expected Ruby to up the ante in order to make things a little more interesting. The additional challenge is for Emma to body shot her generous benefactor.

She’s tipsy enough now that she doesn’t even hesitate, grasping him by the arm after delivering her shot and all its fixings, and sitting him down in the nearest barstool. She hardly thinks when she positions herself between his legs, standing right in his space and watching his eyes go wide and his mouth slacken in surprise. It’s thrilling to be so aggressive for once, to throw caution to the wind and be so bold. She quite enjoys the stunned expression on his face. But even better is the look he gets when she places the wedge of lime between his parted lips and bends her head to lick across his collarbone as she tugs his dark dress shirt to the side.

The excitement of the moment is spurred on by the enthusiastic and very vocal encouragement of her entourage, and she’s probably going to hate herself in the morning, crossing this line she always told her self she wouldn’t where he was concerned. But it’s her _Dirty Thirty,_ damn it. Let her live a little. Besides, she’s got enough liquid courage coursing through her system to take the edge off of her conscience and racing heart.

She sprinkles salt over him and lifts her gaze back to his when she’s finished. “You don’t mind, do you?” she wonders, studying how dark his eyes have gone with his pupils blown so wide.

He shakes his head, unable to speak with the lime trapped between his lips, and that makes her smile. Just a small curving of lips before she dips her head back down and licks across his collarbone again, this time drawing the salt into her mouth. The cheering from her group kicks up in volume and is joined by the crowd of party crashers behind them; all it does is fuel her adrenaline.

She shifts away, reaching for the shot glass she’d put close by and throwing it back like a champ. As the liquid begins burning down her throat, she grabs his face with both of her hands then lowers her mouth to his to bite into the lime and suck on it from between his teeth. Their lips brush, it’s unavoidable with the proximity, and she feels his hands reach up to grip at her hips, anchoring there to steady her. Or himself. She can’t be sure which it is, but either way, a different kind of heat shoots through her veins and god help her, she loves it.

Loves the press of his fingertips and the way his hands clench and unclench on her hips. Loves the way he tilts his head back so she has better access to the tiny piece of fruit between their mouths. Loves the silken texture of his dark hair that curls at his ears and is trapped beneath her fingers, and the scratchy sensation of the scruff along his jaw on her palms. It’s overwhelming and freeing all at once, and she can’t help but wonder how much more devastating it would be for her (for _them_ ) _without_ the lime. 

She pulls back when she’s finished, tugging the wedge from him but keeping one hand on his shoulder and staying in place, watching him with careful eyes as she extracts the fruit from her mouth with her fingers and licks her lips. It’s crazy, but she swears she can feel the ghost of his mouth on hers, as if they’d kissed without a piece of fruit between them.

The room spins a bit, air thick and just a bit suffocating. It’s possible it’s an effect of the alcohol, but the way Emma’s stomach flips when Killian’s eyes drift down to her lips would suggest otherwise. She can feel her heart hammering hard against her ribcage and she wonders what would happen if her hand slid down to rest above his own heart. Would she feel it beating much the same way -- to time with hers?

“Thanks,” she says.

“That was- um-” He has to clear his throat when he stutters over the words and her smile spreads slow and teasing.

“A one time thing -- there’s only one of those on my list tonight,” she explains on a breathless laugh, easing further away from.

She needs the space, and judging by the absolutely wrecked look on his face, he does too. Her eyes flicker to his mouth a final time -- making her want to do something stupid, like kiss him. _Really_ kiss him this time, and _enjoy_ it.

Take, have, indulge.

It _is_ her birthday, after all.

But the moment is abruptly shattered when someone from across the bar calls out for him, making her take another step back from him. He clears his throat again, scratching adorably behind his ear as he slides off the stool and leans across her towards the table to grasp the neck of the tequila bottle. He takes a swig straight from it before he saunters off to resume his work.

(Emma glances away when he goes, ducking her head to hide her smirk.)

\-----

_30\. Find a guy who knows how to waltz_

Killian finds her up on the roof at the end of the night, leaning her elbows against the railing with her face tipped up towards the sky -- twenty-seven items checked off her list and twenty-seven polaroids tucked safely away in her purse which sits beside the tiara she’d taken off her head and the sash she’d slipped from her body. She’s starting to come down from her buzz since plying herself with water and eating a whole plate of nachos by herself.

He looks surprised to see her there, and she blushes in the low light of the twinkle lights he’d strung up as she confesses that she’d snuck up when no one was looking so she could get some air. Plus she’s always been unable to resist the lure of the city lights three stories up.

“It’s a great view,” she explains.

“Aye, it is.” But he’s only got eyes for her and she feels her throat close up at how soft his gaze and expression are.

“Sorry,” she apologies again, unable to handle the look on his face, not without the liquid courage pulsing through her body. “I’m being rude. I should go. I know you’re trying to close up shop and I’m just-”

“It’s fine, love. Stay as long as you like.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose-”

“You’re not imposing, it’s your birthday.”

She smiles at him despite herself. “Oh, so are you saying if it wasn’t, you’d just kick me out?”

“Straight on your arse,” he winks. “I’m the owner, remember? I can do whatever I wish with my hours, particularly if it means accommodating the Birthday Girl.”

His eyes move lower then, noting how her arms are wrapped around herself and how she keeps shifting from foot to foot in an attempt at keeping warm. He shrugs out of his jacket without the least bit of hesitation, stepping closer to trap her in the circle of his arms as he drapes the garment over her shoulders.

“Here, you’re shivering.”

Instantly she is surrounded by warmth -- the jacket around her and Killian standing so close she can see the dark blue ring on the outer edge of his irises. He fusses with it, tugging on the lapels so it’s on snug and making her heart shoot into her throat. When he brings his gaze back to hers, there’s that cliched movie moment that happens, where the entire world stills around them and _that look_ comes into his eyes while he continues to study her.

“Thanks,” she manages to say.

“Stay as long as you like,” he smiles gently. “And don’t mind me, I’ll just tidy up a bit.”

Emma smiles back and turning back away to keep enjoying the view, though she persistently keeps an eye on him, watching him move around to straighten cushions on couches and bus tables and clear trash. She catches his gaze once in awhile, chest achingly tight with emotions that shouldn’t be there, and she hates the little voice that whispers in her ear. The one that insists Killian is _different_.

That he’s always been.

He moves towards the door, where the switches that control the lights are, and in another half second, all of the main lamps go out, leaving only the twinkle lights and the city lights in front of them. It’s beautiful and steals her attention so that she doesn’t hear him disappear, doesn’t realize he’d even gone missing until he’s suddenly back at her side with another bottle of water and a mug of hot cocoa.

“With cinnamon?” she asks, facing him with surprise on her face after her first sip. “How did you know?”

He reaches up to swipe the corner of her mouth with his thumb and the touch sends a tremor through her body. His smile suggests it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“A man never reveals all of his secrets, love,” he says coyly, pulling his hand away. She notes the little bit of whip cream on the end of his thumb, lashes fluttering when he pops it into his very distracting mouth to lick it off. “Did you have a good birthday?”

“What?”

“Your birthday,” he grins, repeating the question. “Was it a good one?”

She snorts out a laugh, shaking her head to clear her mind, then thinks about all of the stupidly awesome, memorable shenanigans of the night. “It was alright, I guess,” she shrugs, sneaking a glance at him and trying not to think about the taste of his skin on her tongue. The corners of her lips tug up when he gives her back an amused chuckle.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Swan. I’ll not speak a word of it to Ruby.”

“She’ll be incorrigible.”

“Aye, that she will,” he chuckles. “I can’t imagine what she’ll have in store for next year.”

“Oh _god_. I can’t even think about it.”

“Did you manage to mark off everything on your list?”

“Almost,” she shrugs.

“Which one did you miss?”

“Three,” she corrects. She’d missed three of them, and she flushes hot, remembering which they were. It’s only made worse by the smile that widens on his face.

“Alright, which three then?”

“Um.” She decides to start with the least obvious of them. “‘ _Find a guy that knows how to Waltz_.’”

“I see.”

She braces for him to ask about the other two -- the ones she’d skipped because they’d been blatantly about him -- but instead he steps closer to her, plucking the drink from her hand and setting it down before he holds his hand out in invitation. Her eyes go wide with shock and disbelief, gaze darting between his face and hand.

“Wait a second...are you- are you telling me you know how to _Waltz_?”

“We’re a dying breed,” he shrugs, dimples flashing at her. “And while I may be a bit rusty, I would love the honor if you would allow it.”

She is dumbfounded, unsure what to do with this new (and rather darling) bit of information -- Ruby, that little sneak! Of course he would know, _of course_ \-- and feeling more than a little panicked because she definitely doesn’t know how to dance, let alone _Waltz_.

“But...it doesn’t count if nobody takes a photo,” she says, and she knows it’s a lame excuse if there ever was one, her face flushing hot with the stupidity of her reply.

“I have security cameras,” he counters with a teasing smirk, solving the matter by simply grasping her hand and pulling her the rest of the way towards him.

“I don’t know how-”

“You don’t need to,” he says matter-of-factly, cutting off any further arguments she might have. “There’s only one rule.”

He puts them in a proper dance hold -- one hand on his shoulder while keeping the other clasped in his -- and inches her nearer still.

“Oh?” she wonders, swallowing thickly. “What’s that?”

His smile is devastating. “Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

The smoky timber of his voice and the steadiness of his gaze makes her feel like her heart is going to leap out of her chest. Then he starts to move, humming a steady 1-2-3 beat meant to help keep her steps to time with his, and effectively sweeping her off her feet.

“Look at that. It appears, Birthday Girl, that you’re quite the natural,” he praises after a few more moments of seamless Waltzing.

Emma’s nose crinkles and glances down at their feet while she averts her gaze. But it’s nearly impossible to hide her answering smile.

“Uh, uh, uh....eyes up. Eyes on me, Swan. Trust me a little.”

It’s a request that seems bigger than it actually is, a clash of blue against green that makes her chest constrict and the breath back up into her lungs. _Jesus_.

“What was the second one?” he asks, voice hoarse and rumbling in his throat, seemingly as affected as she is.

“What?” she blinks, distracted once more.

“The other items off your list that you missed?

“Oh.”

At the lengthy silence, he gives her an expectant look.

“Um. Another one was ‘ _Find someone whose name starts with ‘K.’’_ ”

His whole body stills at that, their movements coming to a halt as his eyes search hers.

“Ruby,” she shrugs, by way of an explanation.

“Naturally.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he says slowly, expelling a heavy breath. “I suppose it’s your lucky day then.”

This unspoken, near-tangible thing that sparks and simmers constantly between them, thrums wildly to life under her skin -- maybe even her very bones -- and the desire to say _screw it_ , the need to just _know,_ is overwhelming: how he feels under her hands, how he tastes, the noises he’ll make if she gives in and just _kisses_ him already.

“Photo or it doesn’t count,” she reminds him, though her tone is not nearly as teasing as she wants it to be.

It’s difficult to be teasing, because somehow she’s ended up even closer in his embrace, their bodies pressed together now, as if she had just naturally gravitated towards him -- or vice versa -- in the last thirty seconds. Even the way she tips her chin up and how her eyes flicker down to his lips is involuntary.

“I have security cameras,” he repeats, voice barely above a whisper. He’s watching her in that quiet way he always does -- wondering, wanting, _hoping_.

It happens so fast, the way her control snaps and she damns everything to hell, closing her mouth abruptly over his. His groan is instantaneous, as is the way his hand releases hers to cup her cheek in his palm, and everything around her explodes in sensation -- better than anything she could have ever imagined.

But even now he allows her to set the pace, despite the hunger radiating off of him and his mouth hot and eager beneath hers, and in the end, she is the one that moves further into him until not a scant bit of space is left between them. Her hands work their way up his chest and tangle in his hair so her arms can lock tightly around his neck. She can feel his fingers fisting the material of her dress at her lower back, his own arms holding her firmly against the hard lines of his body, and it feels so _good_.

So perfect.

So right.

When she pulls away, swaying with him and lingering in his space, his breath puffs out raggedly over her lips -- as unsteady as she feels. Chest-to-chest, the unsteady pounding of his heart is incredibly pronounced and it delights her to know that it beats just as hers does, that he feels as ruined as she does.

“Happy Birthday, Swan,” he whispers, smile blooming sweetly.

She grins back, wide and happy, leaning forward to kiss him again in lieu of an answer -- because it’s her birthday, because she wants to, because she _can_.

\-----

_2\. Find a guy with blue eyes and a dimpled smile_

The next morning, while Emma sips leisurely at her coffee -- Killian’s smirk pressing into her neck and his fingers toying lazily with the hem of his shirt where it skims her thighs -- she gets Ruby’s elated text over the close-up photo she’d sent of their faces: cheek to cheek with matching toothy, dimpled grins. They’re both showcasing just enough skin to leave very little to the imagination of what they’d been up to the night before.

_Fucking finally!_

_Don’t be smug,_ she types back.

 _Well, I guess you got through all thirty things after all_.

Emma beams at that, typing out a last reply and setting her phone down before turning in Killian’s arms and resting her forehead against his. The tip of his nose nudges hers, making her giggle while his arms slide comfortably around her waist and a contented sigh falls from her lips.

_Guess so._

_Fin_

 

 

 

 


End file.
